


new game

by g00mykins (lemonykittens)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, NG+, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, and a slight tone change dont worry about it, byleth is a Creepy Bastard (who cares), fire emblem three houses:i want everyone to get along :(, selective use of game mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonykittens/pseuds/g00mykins
Summary: The thrumming in Byleth’s head grew stronger.“Sothis?” they croaked out.She appeared from behind a pillar, as if she had been there the whole time. Barefoot, careful steps, with her arms behind her back, almost as if she were guilty. Pitying, maybe. Byleth’s vision swam.“How much longer will I have to do this?” they croaked out.“You fool,” Sothis whispered. Byleth collapsed to the ground, covering their mouth with their hand. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in-“You are only doing this to yourself, you know. There is no chance for a happy ending here.”Byleth squeezed their eyes shut. “You’re right. But there is an ending where we all understand, isn’t there?”Sothis joined Byleth on the floor, cupping their face with hands they couldn’t feel. Still, she lifted their face to look at her. “That’s for you to decide.”____________Byleth is tired of fighting, but they're not done yet.or: Fire Emblem: Three Houses, with a Byleth that knows too much
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis, byleth will be w the blue lions BUT edie and claude will be very much there too
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69





	new game

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote the first part of this chapter waaaay back when the game first came out, but i found it and liked it enough to try n make something out of it! some notes--
> 
> -my aim is to have the mood to be a little more dreary, but dont quote me on that  
> -this isnt so much of an AU as it is canon-adjacent  
> -i love all the lords so, so much, and they WILL talk to each other if byleth has to force them to  
> -at this point, byleth has experienced all 3 routes, except for silver snow (for story purposes) and the ashen wolves route (since i havent played it yet (;w; ))  
> -game mechanics are real and will be used liberally  
> -some people might be ooc, since im prone to injecting my own personal thoughts on them while writing, but ill just call it my """interpretation""" of a character and leave it at that. feel VERY free to call me out on anything, id welcome it  
> -its not my INTENTION to try and create a "true" route where everyone gets along, but it might end up that way,,
> 
> whatever happens, we're in this together now. tell me if ashen wolves is worth buying if you have it! have fun!

Shamir’s knowledge of the new professor goes as follows--

One--they are the child of Jeralt Eisner. Shamir has never been one to give people undue respect, especially on family alone, but logic dictates that the legendary

commander must have passed down his battle skills. There’s no doubt in Shamir’s mind that the professor is qualified to teach the students of Garreg Mach, and if she’s being honest, more qualified than Hannerman and Manuela in the combat department. There also lies Jeralt’s apparent rejection of the church all those years ago, reportedly all for just one child. Shamir is positive that there must’ve been something else too--a power struggle, a questioned morality--that drove him away. She can’t imagine defecting for someone she hardly even knew. 

Two--they are quiet. She has only caught a glimpse of them while they sat next to their father when having tea with the Archbishop, but all they seemed to do was look down and sip at their tea, with the occasional curious glance at Archbishop Rhea. Shamir would never admit to spying, but there was an odd animosity between Jeralt and the Archbishop that Shamir couldn’t help but be interested in. She was about to deliver news from the knight’s scouting--something about a rebellion against the church, nothing serious--but decided that it could wait. 

The new professor’s glances towards the Archbishop were almost suspicious, wary even, but that must’ve just been their father’s grudge rubbing off on them. The entire tea time, they had only said one thing. 

_“Oh, professor,” Rhea had said kindly, putting down her teacup. “How are you liking Garreg Mach so far? I know it’s only been a few days, but have you had the chance to familiarize yourself?”_

_Jeralt shifted protectively around them as if Rhea had made some sort of threat. The newcomer seemed to take in stride, expression betraying nothing._

_“I have been adjusting just fine,” they said, and that was the end of that. If the Archbishop was frustrated by the curt response, she didn’t show it, but Jeralt subtly relaxed his grip on the teacup._

That was when the conversation began to get more boring, so she left them to their tea. Best not to let herself get caught. 

Three--the professor rarely emoted, if at all. Surely they didn’t have _no_ emotion, that would be ridiculous, but in the scant interactions she had seen while they were running around the monastery talking to their future students, they were impossible to read. One sentence responses, only slight, mechanical shifts of the head for any body language at all, and a blank gaze that stared intently at the person they were talking to. Nothing that would tip Shamir off to a psychopath in the making, nothing antagonistic at all, but strange. Unsettling. 

Look at her. Making assumptions about someone without even meeting them properly like some sort of gossiping housewife. 

Shamir shook her head and assumed her stance. The Faculty Training grounds offered plenty of quiet, even more so under the moonlight. The only sounds were the _thwack_ of her training sword, the chirping of crickets, and the rhythmic sounds of…

Of…

Of footsteps. Shamir tensed. It certainly wasn’t Manuela or Hannerman, and the Archbishop was most certainly sleeping, so that left… the new professor. Shamir would have been lying if she said she wasn’t a little intrigued by the opportunity to talk or them.

It was Jeralt who turned the corner. Shamir couldn’t say she was _super_ disappointed. 

“Captain,” she said respectfully, although she wasn’t quite clear on how to address him. He did a double take at her presence, and then relaxed. 

“Jeralt is fine,” he said, shaking his head. His voice was rough, but not unkind. Shamir could see how it would belong to a father. “Who might you be?”

“Shamir of the Knights of Seiros,” she said. “I’ve heard some stories about you.”

Jeralt winced a little. “They talk about me, do they?”

“Alois, mostly,” she admitted. “Although the other knights seem to be quite engaged in them.”

Jeralt remained quiet as he inspected the weapons rack. Shamir opted to change the subject. 

“Are you an axe person?” She asked, looking at his build. Definitely not a Myrmidon, but he _could_ be a forretress knight. Jeralt pursed his lips, still eyeing the training weapons with scrutiny. 

“A little bit of everything,” he said, running his hands over the hilts. _Right. Mercenary._ “Although I’ve been leaning more towards swords, nowadays. Byleth enjoys them.” 

He takes a training sword, and Shamir perks up. “Byleth?”

“My child,” he clarified. Shamir sensed a hint of something like pride in his voice. “They’re the new professor at the Academy.”

Shamir nods. “I might have heard something about that.”

They each choose their respective dummies, both content to let the conversation end there. Out of the corner of her eye, Shamir sees Jeralt move the sword in a similar manner that she sees some of the older knights attack. Now that she thinks about it, it must have been the other way around. 

She clears her throat. “How old are you?”

Jeralt pauses his attack, and then laughs. “Not beating around the bush, are we? I’m old enough to have a kid.”

That’s not very helpful. Shamir purses her lips and considers the information she has--the Knights who speak so highly of Jeralt and also copy his movements are much, much older than he appears right now. Jeralt looks like he’s in his mid-thirties, albeit with more scars than is common. To be expected of a knight with such high praise. Could it be possible that the members of the Knights of Seiros were the ones that taught Jeralt?

Shamir caught herself staring at him and went back to training with her bow, drawing back with as much force as she could muster. _No, not possibly. Alois joined the knights when he was about twenty, and Jeralt had already established himself. He kept on mentioning how it looked like he hadn’t aged, too…_

The arrow was a few rings shy of a bullseye. Shamir grimaced. _Best not to think about all that during training._

Whatever the little mystery Shamir had ran upon, it could wait until she had Catherine to bounce off of. Right now, while Jeralt was just a few paces away from her, she had work to do.

  
  


Across from Jeralt, his kid picked at the food. 

“There’s a dining hall, you know,” he said gently. Byleth looked up and shook their head, finally taking a bite. 

“Don’t need to. Shouldn’t,” they explained. “I don’t need to max out anyone’s motivation yet, and it would be a waste of activity points.”

Jeralt hummed thoughtfully. “More numbers, huh?”

He wasn’t going to kid himself--ever since Byleth was five and could recite numbers he’d never taught them over and over by heart, since they compared the other mercenaries by attributes they could glean by a single look, since Jeralt and everyone else realized they were _scarily_ accurate, he hadn’t had the slightest clue what they were talking about. Motivation was a new statistic, but Jeralt recalled Byleth only ever doing 3 activities in one day--whether it be training or fishing or coloring the pages he brought in from town. 

They were all grown up now, of course, but Jeralt would never be able to shake the image of a little Byleth patiently explaining to him exactly how long it would take for the passion flowers to bloom, small mouth just barely able to articulate variables Jeralt took years of gardening to learn. They must’ve been quite a sight to the other mercenaries-- A child barely reaching 8, face controlled and blank, lecturing a grown man on the intricacies of flower growth. 

The other mercenaries thought Jeralt’s little helper was charming, if a little eccentric. Nobody dared to veer anything _near_ the word unsettling. Jeralt used to suspect Rhea had something to do with it, but really, he wouldn’t have Byleth any other way. 

If Byleth noticed him spacing out, they didn’t comment on it. In comfortable silence, the two of them ate their food. Jeralt finished as quickly as possible, but he paused when Byleth couldn’t seem to make it over half the plate.

Jeralt pursed his lips. Byleth liked to be left in the quiet when dealing with something upsetting, but they never seemed to appreciate just be left alone. 

“Something bothering you, sweetheart?” He asked, pushing his empty plate to the side. Byleth’s eyes flickered upwards, locking onto his for just a moment before shifting. They never made eye contact for long, Jeralt noticed, but he had long since dismissed Byleth’s little differences. 

“Rhea,” They said simply. Jeralt’s heart jolted at the sound of _her_ name coming from their mouth. “She worries me.”

Jeralt swallowed and nodded. “Well, I _did_ tell you to keep your gaurd up. This your own conclusion?”

Byleth nodded. “She looks…” They trailed off, and were anyone else would see a tilt of the head, Jeralt saw slight internal conflict. “She looks familiar.”

Jeralt’s heart caught in his throat. _Dammit, dammit Seiros fucking--_

Byleth forced themself to poke at their food. “It’s probably nothing,” they said with a tone of finality. Jeralt forced his exhale to come out evenly. 

As Byleth finished their food, Jeralt’s hands itched to write in his diary. Or strangle someone. A new flood of emotion filled his throat, no small part of it made up of hate. Byleth ate their food quickly and quietly after that, leaving the room with a soft _farewell, father._

_Dammit, Rhea, what did you do to my kid?_

  
  


Byleth, quiet as a ghost, approached the statues. 

They hummed hymns they weren’t supposed to know yet under their breath, making their rounds at each of the saints a reaping their rewards. They didn’t have nearly this much power _(last time around)_ , but whatever benefit they could get to stop ( _the war the war the fucking war_ ) anything happening to their future students ( _child soldiers)_ , they would consider this a win. 

They left the room considerably stronger, the warm pulse of power still ebbing and flowing under their skin. 

They were only a few steps away from their living quarters before they had to steady themself on one of the pillars. 

Nobody was around, save for a few cats who had been a little late to go to sleep. The moon beamed down at them, silent, uncaring. The thrumming in Byleth’s head grew stronger. 

“Sothis?” they croaked out.

She appeared from behind a pillar, as if she had been there the whole time. Barefoot, careful steps, with her arms behind her back, almost as if she were guilty. Or pitying. Byleth’s vision swam. 

“How much longer will I have to do this?” they croaked out. 

“You _fool,_ ” Sothis whispered. Byleth collapsed to the ground, covering their mouth with their hand. _Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in-_ “You are only doing this to yourself. There is no chance for a happy ending here.”

Byleth squeezed their eyes shut. “You’re right. But there _is_ an ending where we all understand, isn’t there?”

Sothis joined Byleth on the floor, cupping their face with hands they couldn’t feel. Still, she lifted their face to look at her. “That’s for you to decide.”

Byleth exhaled. Sothis drifted away from their consciousness. 

Alone. Alone, without the sword of the creator a their hip, without any students that know them and the power of the enlightened one soaking the breaths they didn't need to take. Alone with the Goddess, sleeping away in the back of their brain.  
  
Alone, but not without purpose.   
  
Quickly, Byleth got up and steadied themself, discarding any remaining despair. They were lessons to plan, and soon, papers to grade.   
  
If things went to plan, they wouldn't have to plan for a war either. 


End file.
